I pull the rest of the team in. “All right, we may be down, but we’re not out. Defense, tighten up your lines. Their center took a hit earlier. Press him. He’s not on his best game. Offense . . . we’re gonna focus on the running game and some screens. Bruno, be ready for the ball. After that, downfield will open up. Everybody good?”
They nod.
“I need more enthusiasm, boys!” I lean into their huddle. “Whatever you think, whatever opinions you might have about me, leave it on the sidelines. Think back . . . those players snuck into our school and trashed our field. They made a mockery of our mascot. Don’t you think it’s payback time?”
“Yeah!” they call.
I clap. “Make it happen!”
They huddle, their arms around each other, chanting.
I glance up to the stands, my gaze searching for Nova, not seeing her. With a long exhale, I turn back to the field.
With thirty seconds left in the game, we’re down by four points.
Our offense is on the Rams’ fifty-yard line, and it’s third down and ten. Toby catches the snap and drops back, looking for his receiver. Milo is covered; then Bruno misses a block. Toby scrambles, fake pumps the ball, and then tucks it under his arm and darts. I run down the field with him, waving my hands. Behind us, the crowd screams. He dodges a tackler, spins, and then hits the end zone. I bend over and clutch my stomach, then rear back up and pump my fists.
Bruno picks Toby up and twirls him around in the end zone. Milo and the rest of the offense join them. They do the lasso from the pep rally, and I wave them in before they get called for celebrating.
Our kicking team runs out and kicks the extra point, and we lead thirty-one to twenty-eight.
I gather the defense around me. “There’s fifteen seconds left, and all they need is a field goal to tie. We can’t let them score. Anything can happen. They can throw a Hail Mary, a hook and lateral, or just run for it.” I pull out the note the Huddersfield guys left on our field and wave it around. “I’ve been carrying this around, waiting for the right time to show it. It says they’re going to tear us apart piece by piece! It says we’re losers! Are we going to let that happen?!”
They pass it around, faces darkening. “No!”
I slap their helmets. “Go kick their asses.”
Their offense snaps the ball, and the quarterback throws a pass—which is intercepted by one of our linemen, a burly fellow who can’t run but tackles like a pro. I bellow out a “Heck yeah!” as he blunders and stumbles through their offense, hops over a player, uses an arm to hold one back, and then slowly runs to the end zone. It’s a dream come true.
Our sideline goes nuts, players and coaches jumping and screaming, faces red and sweaty as they cheer. After the field goal, the score flips to thirty-eight to twenty-eight.
The buzzer goes off, and fans, parents, and cheerleaders swarm the field. Milo picks up the Gatorade and dumps it over Skeeter. I laugh, standing back and taking it in. Sabine jumps into Toby’s arms and kisses him. Sonia dashes on the field and runs straight to Skeeter, hugging him, then drying him off with one of the team towels.
My eyes search the field, loneliness creeping in when I don’t see her.
“Great game, Coach,” the opposing coach says and shakes my hand.
I nod and say the same. People run past me, shouts going up: “Go Bobcats!” and “All the way to state!” I keep my head down, victory and a sense of loss mixing inside of me.
A booming voice pulls my gaze up.
“Look at you. Big shot. Beat the fuck out of that team. My best goddamn friend in the whole world! He’s a badass! That’s what I’m talking about!” Tuck throws his arm around me and gives me a bear hug, then slaps me on the shoulder. “Texas football is legit. Fans are rabid! Some old lady mowed me down to get on the field! That game was”—he kisses his fingers—“chef’s kiss, bro. Fucking fantastic!”
I grin. “It’s good to see you!”
He preens and flips his hair. “I know.”
“How was the flight?”
“Got here just before the game started. For real, Ronan, your players are a force.” He smirks. “’Course, it helps that you’re the best coach ever.”
I smile broadly. “Come on. I want you to meet them. Don’t be surprised if they ask for an autograph.”
“This old injured dog?”
I chuckle.
He tosses an arm around me like he used to on the field. “Me and you, man. We’re a team. Yo, I hope Dog remembers me. He tried to get in bed with me last time. I kinda want a pet, was thinking about something small, like a Chinese crested, sweet and cute, but if it pees my place up, I don’t know—maybe I need a pet and a dog walker . . .” He continues to talk, and my eyes wander to the stands. Still no Nova.